


So Baby Know For Sure, That I'll Never Let You Go

by JaskierOfRivia



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Reunions, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:09:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaskierOfRivia/pseuds/JaskierOfRivia
Summary: Geralt accidentally reunites with Jaskier in a tiny little town, the first time they'd seen each other since the dragon hunt, and confessions and emotions come tumbling out.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 317





	So Baby Know For Sure, That I'll Never Let You Go

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song 'Never Let You Go' which is actually by Justin Bieber, but as soon as I read the lyric I had to use is for my title. The full lyric is: 'Cause this life's too long, And this love's too strong, So baby know for sure, That I'll never let you go.'
> 
> This fic is set after the end of season 1 of Netflix's 'The Witcher' series, so if you haven't watched that yet, I'd do that first. Otherwise, enjoy! There are also a few little book spoilers for part of what happens to Yennefer after the Battle of Sodden.

He heard the lute first.

The sound of the instrument was coming from the nearby inn, _The Butcher and the Hound,_ (a name that Geralt definitely did not like), playing a mournful tune. Geralt, with his superhuman hearing, could hear the whispers of the inn’s patrons, complaining about the slow, depressing songs. Nothing like the bard’s usual, happy, sometimes bawdy songs.

“He hasn’t been the same for at least a year,” Geralt heard one woman whisper to her companion.

“Even his song about the dragon hunt sounded depressing,” the male companion whispered back. “And that was supposed to be _exciting_.”

“Maybe the bard has lost his touch.”

The bard.

_His bard._

Geralt hesitated at the doorway to the inn, his hand resting on the roughly carved wood. It _had_ been well over a year since he and Jaskier had last seen each other, and their last meeting hadn’t exactly… ended well. Geralt could still remember that wrenching, heartbroken look on Jaskier’s face as Geralt yelled at him, screamed at him, fucked up the only real friendship he’d ever had.

(Not that Geralt would ever admit that to Jaskier; he’d never hear the end of it. If Jaskier would ever talk to him again, that is.)

It was the sound of someone yelling at Jaskier, slamming their mug down, yelling at the bard to _hurry the fuck up and play something happier before he gave him something to really complain about,_ that had Geralt finally pushing open the door. The sight before him had Geralt’s heart leap into his throat.

Jaskier was standing on the stage, his lute over his head, shielding him from the hard pieces of bread being thrown at him. _Exactly like when we first met,_ Geralt thought to himself, except that wasn’t all that was being thrown at the bard this time. Dirty plates, cups still filled with beer, and even rotten fruit and vegetables had been thrown at Jaskier. 

The man who yelled at Jaskier, though, was on his feet, mouth contorted into a vicious snarl, a terrifying gleam in his eye. It was what was in the man’s hand that scared Geralt though. He gripped a sharp, deadly-looking dagger in his hand, poised to throw it at Jaskier.

Ready to hurt him.

Really to _kill him_.

“Put the knife down,” Geralt growled, and all the patrons’ eyes turned to look at him. Geralt didn’t know whether Jaskier looked; he couldn’t bring himself to look back at Jaskier. He couldn’t risk getting distracted, couldn’t risk giving the angry man an opening.

Couldn’t risk Jaskier getting hurt.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man demanded to know, his eyes being drawn to the hilt of Geralt’s sword on his back.

“Geralt of Rivia,” Geralt answered. “Witcher. And you’re going to put that knife down, and let the bard leave this place unharmed.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Igor, that’s the White Wolf,” the angry man’s female companion hissed. “The Butcher of Blaviken. He could kill you before you even have a chance to blink.”

Igor’s face paled some, but then he gripped the dagger tighter, thrusting it in Jaskier’s direction. “My quarrel is not with you, Butcher,” said Igor, eyes darting from Jaskier, to Geralt, and back to Jaskier again. “Leave in peace. You do not need to meddle in our affairs. “There are no monsters here.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Igor,” said Geralt. Igor tensed at the use of his name. “Any quarrel you have with the bard, you have with me as well. And I wouldn’t be so sure about there being no monsters here. Now leave, before I make you leave.”

One more twitch of Geralt’s hand towards his sword, and Igor fled the inn, his female companion close behind him.

It was only now that Jaskier lowered his lute, realizing the danger had passed. The physical danger, anyway. With one fleeting, strange glance at Geralt, Jaskier quickly left the inn. After a moment, Geralt left too.

“Don’t follow me, Geralt,” Jaskier said without turning around. “I have no desire to talk to you.”

“Jaskier-” Geralt started, but the bard interrupted him.

“I said, no, Geralt. It’s been over a year, and you made it pretty clear how you felt the last time we saw each other. I kept fucking your life up and landing you in shit, remember?”

“Jaskier, will you at least _look_ at me?” Geralt insisted, pleading, a tone Geralt had never heard in his own voice, much less one Jaskier had heard. Finally, the bard turned around. 

Jaskier’s expression was hurt and happy and upset and hopeful and anguished all at once. “What do you want, Geralt?”

“Can we at least talk? I- I miss- I need to talk to you. Please.”

Something flickered across Jaskier’s face that Geralt didn’t recognise, before disappearing again. But whatever Jaskier felt about Geralt now, or had felt in the preceding year, he’d never heard Geralt beg like this. No one had.

Jaskier’s face crumpled in on itself. “Fine. But not now. I- I need to think. Tomorrow night. The Golden Claw. I’m in the last room on the right. Don’t tell anyone you’re there to see me.”

Geralt nodded. “Okay, Jaskier. Okay.” He looked around, making sure no one was watching or listening, before continuing. “I have to go. I need to get back to Ciri.”

“Ciri?” Jaskier repeated, confused.

“My Child Surprise,” Geralt told him. “I went back for her. It took me nearly a year to get to her, and then they held me in the dungeon because they didn’t want me to take her even though I was trying to protect her, and then Cintra fell, so it took me a while to actually get her…” Geralt realised he was rambling, almost as if he was trying to stay around Jaskier as long as possible. Only one other person had made him ramble like that.

_Fuck._

“You inspired me to get her, I guess,” Geralt concluded. Jaskier said nothing; Geralt wasn’t sure whether Jaskier wanted to storm off, say something, or move closer to Geralt. Probably all three.

“I have to get back to her, before she panics because I’ve been gone for too long,” said Geralt. “So. Tomorrow.”

Jaskier ignored this last bit. “Why did you leave her, then?” he asked, more curious than accusatory.

“She’s nearby,” Geralt assured him. “She would know if her enemies are nearby, too. She can sense it, somehow. And I would know if she was in danger. The whole destiny thing.”

Geralt half reached out towards Jaskier, before lowering his hand again. “Tomorrow night,” he said again.

Jaskier looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he nodded. “Tomorrow night. Not before.” Jaskier then walked away, slowly, almost as if he wanted to stop and turn around, go back to Geralt. He held his lute tightly as he went. 

***

Ciri was sitting up in bed when Geralt returned, visibly relaxing when she saw him.

“You were gone for so long,” Ciri said. “I thought something had happened to you.”

“Sorry,” Geralt said sincerely, passing Ciri some of the food he had acquired for her. “I ran into an old friend. We were… catching up. It’s been a while.”

Whether Ciri had recognised the expression on Geralt’s face or had felt the pain and sadness and guilt through their connection (or both), Geralt didn’t know. But she nodded, didn’t pursue the subject, and started digging into the food Geralt had bought. Geralt watched Ciri for a long moment, just glad that she was safe, before heading into the next room.

“It’s me,” he said, closing the door softly behind him. “I brought you food. Are you hungry?”

Yennefer of Vengerberg stared towards the sound of Geralt’s voice, grasping at thin air, eyes unseeing. The magic she had used during the Battle of Sodden had done terrible damage, rendering her blind, hopefully temporarily. Geralt hoped to find a cure hidden somewhere at Kaer Morhen.

“Come sit next to me,” Yennefer insisted, not unkindly.

Geralt did as the sorceress requested, wordlessly pressing her dinner into her hands.

“You’re upset, Geralt,” Yennefer said matter-of-factly, looking towards where she sensed Geralt sitting. “What happened?”

“Don’t read my mind, Yennefer,” Geralt said, but he wasn’t angry. He just stared into space, unable to get the look he’d seen on Jaskier’s face out of his mind. “It’s not a pleasant place to be right now.”

“The old friend you ran into,” Yennefer continued, even though Geralt silently begged her to stop, “It was the bard, wasn’t it? Jaskier? The one who followed you around like a lost little puppy?”

Geralt sighed. “Yen…”

“Your lack of an answer says it all,” said Yennefer. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Yennefer,” said Geralt, turning resolutely away from her. Yennefer, of course, not being able to see Geralt, didn’t notice and would not have cared anyway.

“Geralt, don’t make me go digging in your mind for the answer,” Yennefer warned him. “You know I’ll do it.”

Geralt sighed. “He didn’t leave,” Geralt admitted finally, deciding that talking to Yennefer was _far_ better than the sorceress digging around in his head. (That could be _very_ uncomfortable, both emotionally and physically.) “But he didn’t exactly want to see me, either.” Before Yennefer could ask the question, because Geralt knew she was about to, he added, “I hadn’t seen him since the last time I saw you. Since the dragon.”

“And why is that?” Yennefer asked. “I mean, I know he traipsed after you like he had nowhere else to be, and I know you liked to make it look like he annoyed you like nothing else, but I _know_ that neither of those things were the case.” Yennefer sat straight up in bed, and even though she couldn’t see exactly where Geralt was, she could sense him, so she stared towards him with a powerful, fearsome look in her eyes. “You could have told him to fuck off and leave you alone so many times, and you never did. You enjoyed having him around, Geralt, I know you did.”

Geralt sighed, unsure of what to say or how to say it. On the one hand, he needed to say this out loud, think about what to say to Jaskier tomorrow and how to say it, and he also knew Yennefer could actually give him some good advice, no matter how she felt about Jaskier herself. But on the other hand, he hated talking; he preferred keeping his cards close to his chest, and always found it hard to find the right words to say. The stories about Witchers being unable to feel emotions were definitely not true, as Geralt knew from personal experience, but he didn’t know how to put these emotions into words. He had far greater control of his emotions compared to a normal human, so when he felt emotions that were so intense like he did right now (like he did far too often when it came to that stupid bard), he didn’t know what to do.

As much as he hated to admit it, as much as he didn’t want to ask for it, he needed Yennefer’s advice.

“Sometimes I wish Witchers really _didn’t_ feel emotions,” Geralt admitted finally. “Then this would be easy. Then I wouldn’t feel this horrible, clawing feeling in my gut, whenever I think of Jaskier. Whenever I see his face, from that day, when I… when I yelled at him. When I told him I didn’t want him in my life. When I blamed him for all my problems, and every time my life had gone to shit since I met him.” Geralt covered his face with his hands, so he didn’t have to look at the accusatory look in Yennefer’s unseeing eyes. “Fuck.”

“Despite how much that bard annoys me, and how much _I_ wanted him to leave, I never thought _you_ would tell him to,” said Yennefer. “If he actually annoyed you as much as you tried to make it look sometimes, you would have told him to leave you alone _years_ ago.”

“Hmm.” Geralt had no idea what to say. He knew Yennefer had a point; on a whole, Jaskier’s company didn’t annoy him at all. In fact, he’d rather _enjoyed_ it. It was a nice change after so many years of solitude. A very _pleasant_ change.

 _Fuck_.

Geralt could feel Yennefer’s magic right on the fringes of his mind, pushing, trying to figure out what Geralt was thinking, what he couldn’t find the words to say. It was a mark of how upset and confused Geralt was that he didn’t push back.

That was when Yennefer realised.

“You’re an idiot, Witcher,” Yennefer said suddenly, causing Geralt to finally look at her in surprise. “You’re an idiot for not being able to see what was right in front of your face. You broke his heart, Geralt.”

“I- I… what?”

“I’m just making an educated guess,” said Yennefer imperiously. “But I do know some about these things. He should explain it to you. I don’t know exactly what’s in the bard’s head, and I have no desire to find out. You’re lucky he didn’t turn tail and run as soon as he saw you.”

“I think he wanted to, but I managed to get him to agree to meet with me tomorrow night,” Geralt said, letting out a sigh he didn’t realise he was holding. “Witchers may not be emotionless, Yennefer, but we know how to control our emotions. Suppress them, if we need to. We rarely have to deal with emotions like this. _I’ve_ never felt emotions like this. I didn’t know what to do then, and I don’t know what to do now.”

“You go over there tomorrow, listen to what Jaskier has to say, no matter how angry or upset it makes you, and then you show him how you really feel,” Yennefer said.

“How I really feel…” Geralt repeated, staring at his strong, well-worn hands. He still wasn’t sure if he knew what that feeling was.

Yennefer waved a hand imperiously in Geralt’s general direction, trying to maintain a dignified, powerful air. “I know what I’m talking about, Witcher. Besides, I’m sick of your moping. You may not have realised, but you’ve been acting like one of the scared, sad little girls who’s just been told they can never leave Aretuza to see their families. And it’s getting on my nerves.”

“I always knew you cared, Yen,” said Geralt sarcastically, but joking rather than angry.

“Just want to make the journey to Kaer Morhen as easy as possible for all involved. Now go to sleep, Witcher. You’re grumpy when you’re tired, and that will not help you at _all_ tomorrow night.”

Geralt nodded, rising to his feet, hesitating before leaving the room. “I’m glad you’re okay, Yennefer,” he said.

“Me too,” Yennefer admitted. “More importantly, I’m glad you’re the one that found me. Now sleep, Witcher.”

Geralt headed back to the next room, where Ciri was now sound asleep, ashen blonde hair fanned out on the pillow around her. He may have been fighting against his destiny with Ciri, their bond, regretting asking Duny for the Law of Surprise. He’d told Jaskier once that the last thing he wanted was someone needing him, and that he didn’t need anyone. At the time, he meant it. 

But once he told Jaskier to fuck off and leave him alone, Geralt had realised he was wrong. He _needed_ Ciri. It felt like he’d gotten a part of himself back, when he’d found her. He’d never believed in destiny, but the Law of Surprise had bound them together since even before Ciri was born. Ciri was as much a part of Geralt as he was a part of her. 

But even with Ciri in his life, even after rescuing Yennefer from the aftermath of Sodden, he still didn’t feel whole. There was still a part of Geralt’s heart missing.

Yennefer was right, Geralt realised with a sudden, sickening jolt. Geralt _was_ an idiot for not being able to see what was right in front of his face. He knew what this feeling was, that he had had no idea what to do with. He knew exactly what his heart was missing.

_Jaskier._

***

Geralt wasn’t sure what to do when he arrived at Jaskier’s room. The Golden Claw had had a loud, happy buzz when he entered, which had quieted when the patrons saw him. Geralt ignored them all, instead heading upstairs, to the last room on the right like Jaskier had instructed.

Geralt hesitated, half-raising his hand to knock on the door, before it flew open and Jaskier stood in front of him, a look of fury mixed with a strange sort of hopefulness on his face.

“I heard you coming,” Jaskier said, answering Geralt’s unanswered question. “Your footsteps aren’t exactly quiet, Witcher.” Jaskier put a hand on his hip, fixing Geralt with an angry, trying-to-be-intimidating-but-failing stare. Geralt wanted to smile at that, but he knew that wouldn’t be a good idea right now. Instead he stepped around Jaskier into the room beyond. Jaskier stared after him for a long moment, before closing the door behind him.

The two men stood still and silent for the longest time, just staring at each other, on opposite sides of the room. Geralt suddenly wished he could read Jaskier’s mind and emotions just as easily as he could read Yennefer’s. Jaskier was still trying to look intimidating, but even without being able to read Jaskier’s mind, Geralt could see the hurt and sadness and anger and _pain_ written all over Jaskier’s face. He hated that he was the one who had caused that. Geralt knew that Jaskier had carried that pain in his heart for over a year, since that day on the mountain, and he found himself wishing he could cry. 

_I will do everything I can to make sure Jaskier never feels pain like this again,_ Geralt vowed. _If he lets me, I’ll make sure he knows exactly how special he is. How amazing he is. How he deserves the world. And I’ll give it to him, if he’ll let me._

After what felt like an eternity, Jaskier finally crossed the room to stand in front of Geralt. He stood there, his arms crossed and chin raised, as if daring Geralt to make a move. Then, Jaskier uncrossed his arms, took a deep breath-

And started hitting Geralt.

Geralt took a step backwards, partly in surprise, partly to make Jaskier believe that his punches were having a physical effect on the Witcher (for Geralt knew with an ache of his heart that they’re definitely having an emotional one). Jaskier hit Geralt again, and again, and again, everywhere he could reach. Geralt made no move to protect himself, no move to prevent Jaskier from hitting him, even though they both knew he can. Even though there was no way that Jaskier’s punches were actually physically hurting Geralt, Geralt continued to flinch anyway, wincing every time Jaskier throws a particularly hard punch that would seriously hurt a normal human.

Finally, with one particularly hard slap across Geralt’s face, Jaskier stopped. Both men were breathing heavily, staring at each other, trying to decide what to say next.

Jaskier spoke first. “Why- why didn’t you stop me?” he asked, now sounding more confused than angry. “I know you could have. I also know those punches didn’t really hurt you, but you flinched as if they did anyway.” Even without being able to read his mind, Geralt could hear the words that Jaskier didn’t say. _You didn’t have to make me think those punches physically hurt you, but you did, and I thank you for it. I needed that._

“I didn’t stop you because I deserved it,” Geralt said simply. Jaskier just looked even more confused now, but his expression softened even more. Now there was something else there, something like… _hope?_ “I deserved every single one of those punches, and I _wished_ I could feel it more, because I deserve that level of pain. The physical pain should match what I’ve felt in my heart for over a year.”

Geralt was talking more than Jaskier had ever heard him talk in his life, and Jaskier had known him for _years_ before this point. Instead of standing there looking angry at Geralt, Jaskier crossed the room to sit on the bed, patting the empty space to indicate that Geralt should join him. Geralt did exactly as Jaskier wanted to.

He would do _anything_ Jaskier wanted him to do, now. He would give him the world, follow him to the ends of the earth, if it meant that Jaskier would forgive him, would follow him on the Path again. He just needed to convince him to do it.

“Talk,” Jaskier said. “Keep going. You seem to have gotten pretty good at it.” There was no malice or anger in Jaskier’s voice now, just… curiosity? Hope? There was still hurt there, yes, still fear, still incredible _pain_ . But… could Geralt still have a _chance_?

“I’ve barely had anyone to talk to since…” Geralt trailed off, then, but Jaskier knew what he meant.

“I can’t imagine the world not hearing those dulcet tones,” Jaskier joked without thinking. He clapped a hand over his mouth when he realised what he said. He tried, and only partially succeeded, to settle his face into a fierce expression again.

There were several moments of uncomfortable silence, both men glancing at each other and looking away. Geralt was the first to speak. He knew Jaskier was waiting for him to do so.

“I wanted to go back to you straight away,” he admitted finally. “As soon as I called you a curse on my life, as soon as I told you to fuck off and leave me alone forever, I regretted it more than anything I’ve ever done in my life, and I’ve done a lot of things in my long life I regret. But I’d waited too long, and you were already gone, and obviously Yennefer was too, so I couldn’t ask her to- to teleport me to you.”

Jaskier winced at the mention of the sorceress, and again, Geralt knew what Jaskier was thinking even without being able to read his mind. But Geralt knew the truth, and Jaskier did not press the issue, so Geralt continued. “I knew if I couldn’t go back for you, couldn’t find you straight away, then I’d do the next best thing. If I could follow my heart, I’d follow my destiny. So I went for Ciri instead.”

“But Cintra has fallen,” Jaskier cut in. It was an indication of how much he’d relaxed, how much he’d forgotten his anger and hurt, so enthralled he was in Geralt’s story, so worried and curious he was about Geralt and the young princess. (Jaskier would admit this to Geralt much, much later, but he’d also started to feel a little bit of hope at this point, and that was something he couldn’t help but focus on.) “So what happened? Were you too late?”

Geralt couldn’t help the smile that twitched at the corner of his mouth. He’d _missed_ this Jaskier. “I wasn’t, technically,” he admitted. “But Queen Calanthe didn’t trust me. She thought I was going to take Ciri from her, take her and run and never let her see her grandmother again. So she conspired with Mousesack to lock me in her dungeons.”

Jaskier’s hands tensed involuntarily into fists where they rested on his legs. Geralt chose to ignore this, even as he _yearned_ to reach out and comfort the bard. “I escaped when the Nilfgaardian forces attacked. Queen Calanthe was dead, but there was- there was no sign of Ciri. We reunited weeks later, by chance.”

“What was it like, when you saw her?” Jaskier asked before he could stop himself. He had to know. “Did you feel anything?”

“Like I’d found a part of me I didn’t know was missing,” Geralt admitted. It was a question he normally wouldn’t have answered, either turning away, changing the subject, or replying with his customary “hmm”. But this time was different. He would ramble until the break of dawn if Jaskier would let him. If Jaskier wanted him to. “Like I’d known her my whole life, even though we’d never met before.” Geralt sighed, looking in the direction of the house they were hiding in, where he knew Ciri was waiting. “I have to protect her, Jaskier. I have to. Whatever it takes.”

Jaskier studied Geralt curiously. “Why did you go back for her, though?” he asked. “I mean, I know you said you wanted to- to go and get me…” Jaskier’s voice caught in his throat when he said this, and Geralt’s hand twitched as he fought to hold himself back from reaching out and comforting the bard. “But why did you go to get Ciri? To get your Child Surprise? You could’ve continued on the Path, going from town to town, fighting monsters and fulfilling contracts, possibly running into me along the way.”

Part of Geralt wondered if this was a trick question, but the other part of him knew Jaskier. Jaskier had wanted him to go back for Ciri in the first place, _many_ years earlier. He would never hold that against Geralt.

“I… I wanted to make you proud,” Geralt said, holding Jaskier’s eyes, showing him this was the truth, that this wasn’t just something he was saying to placate the bard. “You’re the one who wanted me to get Ciri in the first place. Every time I thought about my Child Surprise, thought about getting them, about what I would do when I got back to Cintra, I heard your voice. I don’t know if I would’ve gone back for her if it wasn’t for you. I just wanted to make you proud, Jaskier. Only you.”

Geralt could see the beginning of tears welling in Jaskier’s eyes, but the bard wiped them away with the edge of his sleeve. “You got her,” he said, looking as if he was mulling something over. The scary Witcher and his Child Surprise, the young princess. You must make quite a pair. If you ever let anyone see you that is.”

Geralt was almost desperate to reach out for Jaskier then, to take the bard in his arms and never let him go, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. There was something else he needed to tell Jaskier. He didn’t know if Jaskier would trust him if he found out another way. 

“Jaskier, I- there’s something else I need to tell you. Yennefer’s here too.”

Jaskier flinched away, and the hurt and _anguish_ spread across his face again like a terrible poison, trying to kill him from the inside. “Ye-Yennefer’s here? With you?”

“She’s with Ciri, right now,” Geralt answered, nodding. Jaskier made to get up then, to cross the room away from Geralt, or even to leave, but the pleading look on Geralt’s face, a look that begged _please don’t go, there’s more to this, please don’t go,_ that stopped him. So instead he settled for refusing to look at Geralt. 

“She may be with me, but she’s not _with_ me,” Geralt said, and there was hope in Jaskier’s eyes again, almost as if he was asking Geralt if he meant what Jaskier thought he meant. “While I do love Yen, and I know she loves me too, it’s not like that. Not any more. Not now, not ever again. I don’t want to be with her, and she doesn’t want to be with me. We’ll always be a part of each other, but it’s a different kind of love than we first thought it was.”

Geralt fell silent. He’d said all he could, explained it all to Jaskier in the only way he knew how. He could only hope that Jaskier had understood, and would forgive him. That he would let Geralt back into his life, and into his heart.

Whatever Geralt expected Jaskier to say next, it certainly wasn’t what came out of his mouth. “Do you believe in soulmates, Geralt?” he asked.

“I- what?” Geralt stammered, confused. Jaskier didn’t say anything, instead waiting for Geralt’s answer. “I didn’t before. Had no reason to. But now, I…” Geralt trailed off, looking at Jaskier pointedly before he continued. “I do believe in soulmates. I really do.” Geralt really hoped Jaskier had asked that question for the reason Geralt was thinking of.

_It’s you, it’s you, I know mine is you._

“I believe in them,” Jaskier continued. “I always have. Written songs about it, too. I never thought I’d meet mine, mind you, but I’ve definitely met people who’ve met their soulmate.” Jaskier studied Geralt, his eyes lingering a little too long on Geralt’s lips, his chest, his hands, his-

“It was through all my travels and meeting other people who had met their soulmates that I realised something,” Jaskier continued. “People could have more than _one_ soulmate. Yes, I’ve seen people who have only one soulmate, and that’s fine for them. But I’ve also seen people who have another who loves them dearly, who knows their heart and mind inside and out, but who isn’t their spouse or their lover. And yet, they love their spouse or their lover dearly, _and_ said spouse or lover knows them inside and out as well. Basically, I’m saying that from what I’ve seen and know and understand, people can have different soulmates for love and friendship. I think that’s the case with you.”

 _Please let Jaskier be saying what I think he’s saying,_ Geralt thought to himself. Out loud, he said. “I think you might be right. Yennefer may know me inside and out, but she doesn’t have my heart. Not like _that_ , anyway.” Geralt took a deep breath, steeling himself, forcing his gaze to hold Jaskier’s, before continuing.

“I missed you every day, Jaskier,” Geralt finally, truthfully, desperately admitted. “Every single day since we’ve parted, I’ve missed you. Every single day, I wished you were there. I wanted to see you so, so _badly_ , I’d close my eyes and imagine you were there so I could see your face. I’d see something that would make me think of you, or that I thought you would like, or that you would know something about, and I’d turn to talk to you about it, but you weren’t there. I’d look around for you, but you weren’t there. Something’s been missing in my life, since you haven’t been in it. That’s why I think, no, I _know_ , that you’re right about me having two soulmates. And the other one is you.”

Jaskier was staring at Geralt, wide-eyed and stunned and desperate and _wanting_ and suddenly understanding, but Geralt wasn’t done. “I didn’t just hurt you that day, when I told you to leave. I hurt myself,” he said. “But I know I hurt you more, and I will spend every second for the rest of my life making it up to you. If you’ll let me, that is.”

Finally, Geralt was done. Jaskier’s mouth was hanging open, and Geralt had never seen him so stunned. “You do love me,” he whispered. “You love me.”

“I do,” Geralt confirmed, because he knew that Jaskier needed to not just deduce it. He needed to _hear_ it, straight from Geralt. “I love you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “You never ramble like that, unless you’re talking to or about someone you love,” he said. “Which is good, because I love you too. I love you, Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf, Butcher of Blaviken, Witcher… my heart. But I… I need you to know. I need you to know how much you hurt me, when you told me to leave, when you cast me out of your life. I’ve never felt such pain, Geralt. I felt like my heart was breaking in two, and I was leaving one half of it behind. I never thought you could hurt me like that. I never thought it was possible to feel such _pain_ , like I did that day. I forgive you for it, really I do. I knew I’d forgive you, the moment I saw you again, as long as you didn’t walk away from me. As long as you admitted you hurt me. I couldn’t lose you, not again. But I never want to feel that pain again.”

Jaskier reached out for Geralt then, finally, taking his hand in Jaskier’s own and squeezing it. Geralt could hear the silent question, the silent statement, both in Jaskier’s actions and his words. _Please don’t hurt me again. Please don’t leave me again. Please pull me back into your life, and never let me go again._

“I’ll never tell you to leave again,” Geralt promised. “I’ll never leave you again.” Geralt put a calloused hand on Jaskier’s face and the bard leaned into his touch, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. Both men relaxed for the first time that night.

Geralt ran a thumb gently backwards and forwards over Jaskier’s cheek, soothingly, lovingly. “Jaskier,” he whispered. “My Jaskier. My bard.”

“My Witcher,” Jaskier whispered back. “My Geralt. My heart.”

Geralt’s lips met Jaskier’s then, the softest, sweetest kiss either of them had ever had. He kissed him again, and again, and again, as Jaskier tangled his fingers into Geralt’s long, loose hair. Geralt allowed himself to be pulled forwards onto the bed. Jaskier moved to remove his clothing, but Geralt stopped him.

“No. Allow me,” Geralt growled, almost animalistic. Hungry. _Wanting_ . Longing for _all_ of Jaskier.

“Only if you let me undress you,” was Jaskier’s reply.

Geralt relented.

They made love for the first time that night. It was sloppy, and quick, but it was still the best sex either one of them had ever had. They’d have plenty of chances to improve on it, anyway.

_The rest of their lives._

“I hate to break the mood,” Geralt joked, “but we do need to go. Ciri will be waiting for me. She doesn’t like to be apart from me for too long. She’d been running for her life, so scared, she only feels safe when she’s around me.” Geralt chuckled a little, still finding it difficult to imagine a girl like Ciri looking up to and relying on him.

“Good thing I’m already packed,” said Jaskier, and Geralt knew the bard was thrilled that Geralt was talking about _them_ , not just Geralt on his own. “I was uh, hoping you’d take me with you,” Jaskier admitted. “Even though I was still unbelievably angry with you while I packed.”

“I’m just glad you’re with me again,” Geralt said, hoisting himself out of bed. Jaskier watched him move with a small smile, love in his eyes. He could see the marks on Geralt’s arms where Jaskier had gripped him oh so _tightly_. They both knew that Geralt could have resisted the grip more, ensured the marks didn’t show up. They both knew why he didn’t.

Geralt wanted Jaskier to know that Geralt was his. Now, and always.

They left Jaskier’s room, Jaskier tossing a small bag of coins to the innkeeper as they left. “I’ll be leaving now, with the Witcher,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Geralt walked half a step behind Jaskier as they walked down the deserted street, as if afraid the bard would disappear if Geralt lost sight of him.

When they reached the door of the house Geralt had hidden Ciri and Yennefer in, Geralt hesitated. “There’s something I need to tell you before we go in, just so you’re prepared,” Geralt said. “Did you hear about the Battle of Sodden?” Jaskier nodded, so Geralt continued. “Yennefer was there. She fought. She used powerful, fire magic, to turn the tide and win the battle for the Northern mages, but… that magic came at a cost. Most sorceresses would have died, using the magic Yennefer did. Those sorceresses weren’t as powerful as Yennefer, nor were their lives bound to another’s by a djinn’s power. So instead, the magic, it- it blinded her.”

“Yennefer’s _blind_?” Jaskier said, stunned. Whatever he’d expected Geralt to say, it wasn’t that. “She… she can’t see?”

Geralt nodded. “She’s coming with us to Kaer Morhen,” he explained. “We’re both hoping to find a cure for her blindness among the tomes there. Ciri can train there, too. And there’s no safer place for them. Or for us.” Geralt paused with his hand on the door, looking at Jaskier. “Are you ready, Jaskier?” he asked.

“Ready.”

When the two men entered the room, both Yennefer and Ciri were sitting up in bed and waiting. Yennefer smirked when they entered the room, and even though she couldn’t see him, they all knew she could sense that Jaskier was there.

“Maybe you’re not as much of an idiot as I thought you were, Witcher,” Yennefer said, laughter and something like _delight_ behind her voice.

“Maybe I’m not,” Geralt agreed. “I’m just glad Jaskier found it in himself to forgive me.”

“I couldn’t _not_ forgive you,” Jaskier said, and the two men smiled at each other, before the young blonde girl sitting in the bed caught Jaskier’s eye. She was looking at Jaskier, studying him curiously, cautiously, possibly assessing the threat that Jaskier might pose to her safety.

Jaskier dropped to his knees in front of the princess, smiling, trying to show her that he was no threat to her, that he would protect her just as Geralt did. “Hello,” he said gently. “I’m Jaskier. I’m a bard.”

“I’m Ciri,” Ciri said, a small, hopeful, cautious smile now on her face. “Are you the one Yennefer said that Geralt’s been missing?”

Jaskier looked from Yennefer, to Geralt, and back to Ciri again. “I guess I am,” he said. His smile was even wider now.

“I think I’ve heard some of your songs,” Ciri told Jaskier. “My mother used to sing them to me. And Geralt would sing some under his breath when he thought I couldn’t hear him.”

Geralt started at this, surprised, genuinely thinking that Ciri hadn’t heard him when he did this.

Jaskier was _grinning_ now, and Ciri visibly relaxed. “Maybe he’ll sing them out loud, now,” Jaskier said. “I knew your mother, once. I was there when she married your father. You look so much like her.”

Ciri’s smile was genuine now, showing she trusted Jaskier. But then she yawned, covering her mouth with a hand.

“We should all sleep,” Geralt said. “We’ll leave in the morning, continue on to Kaer Morhen.

“ _All_ of us,” he concluded, with a pointed look at Jaskier. He wanted to make absolutely sure that Jaskier knew he was a part of their group now. A much loved part of their group.

“But there’s only three beds,” Ciri said.

Jaskier started to say something, but Geralt interrupted him. “No matter,” Geralt said. “Jaskier can share a bed with me.”

Jaskier grinned. Yennefer laughed. All four of them went to bed.

***

They left right before the crack of dawn that morning, when very few people could see them go. Roach was the only horse they had, and Jaskier let out a small noise of surprise when Geralt helped Yennefer up onto the horse, and Ciri hopped up behind her, wrapping her arms around the sorceress's slender waist. Yennefer gripped Roach’s reins as tightly as she could.

“It’s safer for Yennefer to be up on the horse, since she can’t see,” Geralt explained, answering Jaskier’s unasked question. “And this way if one of Ciri’s enemies gets too close, Ciri can get away as fast as possible, if she needs to.”

With that, the little group set off, Geralt and Jaskier walking as close to each other as they could without colliding. As they passed through the exit to the town, Jaskier danced his fingers across Geralt’s hand, turning it over, trying to hold it. Geralt let him. They linked their fingers together, Geralt squeezing Jaskier’s hand as tightly as he could without hurting the bard, the action saying _I’m here, I’m here. We’re together. I’m never leaving you again. I’ll never demand you leave me again._ They held hands until next they stopped, letting go only to eat. They held hands again all the way until the next town.

Jaskier performed on stage at the new town that night, earning the four of them some money for their food and lodging. His songs were happy again, like they hadn’t been for over a year, and he performed with a genuine smile on her face. It was also the first time he’d performed ‘Toss a Coin to Your Witcher’ since Geralt had demanded he leave. Geralt used to hate the song, but now he loved it.

A week later, Jaskier released a new song, one that Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri had heard him writing. When they heard it in full, they knew it was about Jaskier being with Geralt, even though he was never mentioned by name. It was the greatest song Jaskier had ever written, and the greatest song Geralt had ever heard.

 _My bard has a beautiful voice_ , Geralt thought to himself as he watched Jaskier perform. _His bard. His soulmate._ And that was something that they both knew would never change, because Geralt would never let Jaskier go again.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I finally got this fic finished, I just wanted to get it exactly right for me. I swear to god, if these two boys don't reunite and make up somehow in season 2, I will RIOT.
> 
> I am kind of assuming part of what happens to Yennefer after Sodden based on what happens to her in the books. I'm pretty sure they'll change some of it (I mean, they've already changed several things in the show, and part of what I've written about what happens to Yen is definitely different than what happens to her in the books. I guess we'll just have to wait and see!
> 
> I also never thought I'd love these two characters together as much as I do after watching the show, but now I've fallen down a Geraskier rabbit hole and I can't get out. Oh well. NO REGRETS.
> 
> As always, follow me on Twitter, [@JaskierOfRivia](https://twitter.com/JaskierOfRivia) for all sorts of Witcher-y goodness and so we can cry about The Witcher together.


End file.
